


How Do They Fall Down?

by CynSyn, TawnyOwl95



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy(ish) Ending, Anxious!Crowley, Aziraphale's limp origin story, BAMF!Aziraphale, Crowley Saunters Vaguely Downwards, Crowley helped to make the stars, Crowley wasn't Raphael before he fell, F/F, Free will is a bitch, It all went down like a lead balloon, Lucifer's Rebellion, M/M, Pre-Fall (Good Omens), Scene: Garden of Eden (Good Omens), They're called revolutions because they go round and round, anxious!aziraphale, but he's still so soft, he wasn't even a local councillor, hurt!Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:00:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25317184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynSyn/pseuds/CynSyn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TawnyOwl95/pseuds/TawnyOwl95
Summary: In Heaven every angel knows their place.Almost.A Senior Astral Design Technician (who will one day choose to call himself Crowley) has questions. He thinks the Archangel Lucifer may have answers.This is only partly fueled by the Crowley's growing fascination for the Principality with the kind eyes who is so far out of his league it's embarrassing. Not to mention socially impossible.  But as discontent in Heaven grows boundaries begin to blur and all the angels will have to choose where they belong.Or, five times Crowley didn't have the nerve to talk to Aziraphale and the one time he did. (Which made all the difference to the World)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 94
Kudos: 106
Collections: Apple-bottom Jorts, Good Omens Mini Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to [CynSyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynSyn/pseuds/CynSyn) for the gorgeous art, support and patience. 
> 
> Also to [Jamgrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamgrl/pseuds/jamgrl) who convinced me the first draft of chapter one wasn't as weird as I thought.
> 
> And to everyone in the Do It With Style server, especially Sosobriquet and FlightyRainbow for the beta of my first two chapters.

_ I didn't really fall. I just, you know, sauntered vaguely downwards. _

This would be a small star. The tiniest of stars, really. Barely there at all. Crowley, (or, at least, an angel who would one day choose to call himself Crowley), scooped up stardust from the clay bowls on his desk and spun it together. The mass pulled tight, he mixed gas into the vortex. Reality bent a bit to accommodate something that was only possible because Crowley believed it could be. He still needed to get the balance just right though. He believed he could create a miniature version of the larger stars they’d been working on, but he also believed in what would happen if the quantities of hydrogen and helium were wrong.

Satisfied, Crowley spun the starlet faster, faster until it burned.

Beautiful thing. It illuminated the curved silver-grey roof of the cave-room with streaks of colour that danced and quivered. The flecks of sparkling mica caught the light, reflecting it back like a shower of rainbows. 

The rest of the workshop were sunk under the despondency that a visit from a member of the Executive Wing usually left in its wake.  _ Such and such hadn’t met the original brief from the creative team. This or that was behind schedule. Who had forgotten to tidy up the communal areas after themselves (smears of space debris on the walls, so we know it was one of you lot.) _

The starlet sung now. A hum so high pitched Crowley couldn’t hear it with his corporation’s ears. Had to let his celestial essence expand a bit to pick up the notes of it. Perfect.

He ducked his head, twisting so his mouth was beneath the star and blew. It lifted. Another puff sent it out across the office.

Orael caught sight of the starlet first. “If you've not got enough work to do you can have some of mine!” Her reprimand didn't hide the glint of excitement in her eyes. 

Crowley’s grin widened.

She pouted up at the star spinning towards her, then at the last minute leaned forward in her chair. She unfurled her wings with a whomp, flicking the tip of one upwards. The starlet caught the updraft, twisting away over the now upturned heads of the others. Most enjoyed the game. Feivel, who prided himself on having the cleanest robes and work space, tutted and buried his nose back in his designs.

Couldn't please everyone. The point was the mood had lifted with the starlet being blown back and forth. The drudgery of product reviews and deadlines forgotten in the face of something light, sparkly and potentially embarrassing. 

No one wanted to be beneath the starlet when it burned out, that was the game. Keep it high, keep it moving. Crowley pushed back his chair, fanned it away with a wodge of paperwork. Orael got cheered as she jumped on to her desk and sent it spinning wildly towards the office’s arched doorway.

The doorway wasn’t empty.

Zoharel wandered in, attention absorbed in the notes from the Principal Team Leaders Briefing. 

Crowley called out, lunged as Zoharel glanced up. Her cool eyes widened. Her mouth gaped as her notes fluttered to the ground. 

Crowley pushed her into the wall. Stinging pain lanced down his arm as the starlet hit his shoulder. It exploded with a pop of air and a searing burst of light. Dust and debris floated down over half the office.

Crowley wiped his face on the sleeve of his robe. His stomach had managed to tie itself in knots. Stupid nerve endings. Zoharel glowered at him, flecks of dirt marked her sharp cheekbones and the bridge of her straight nose.

Everyone else was back at their desks, heads down. The pointed sound of industry filled the silence. Crowley swallowed. Not the most disruptive thing he’d done in this office, but still not something that was likely to endear him to his manager. 

Crowley was not a good angel. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but knew there was a part of him that would never quite sit still in peaceful contemplation of Her wonder. He was a discordant note chiming just out of tune with the rest of the choir. He’d say he’d been made wrong, except of course that would have called Her in to question. (He’d been made exactly as intended, but that knowledge would not bring him peace. Quite the opposite, in fact.)

Crowley tried to smile under the pressure of Zoharel’s gaze.

“Is it too much to hope that there is a reasonable explanation for this?” There were no inflections to Zoharel's voice. It was a steady beat. She was a good angel. She never lost her temper. It was ungodly to do so. The effort of not being ungodly right now was going to give her corporation jaw strain. 

“I thought it would cheer everyone up.” Crowley dropped to his knees and gathered the notes together. He shook the stardust off before he handed them back. Smears of it still coloured the edges.

Zoharel stood over him, unfolding her arms long enough to accept the papers. “Clean this up, please. And then clean yourself up.” She stalked to her office. 

A miracle could be used, but this was a punishment, wasn’t it? Crowley curled his shoulders and went to find a broom. If he was particularly industrious he would be able to get everything done by the end of his shift. 

The offices of the Astral Design Team always sparkled. The shine of the rock and the material they worked with meant the cave walls always looked alive with light. Now they were clean too. Or as clean as Crowley could get them. Star making was glorious, but it was also messy. Crowley was the one grubby thing left in the room. His arms and back ached. Strange that a form could be designed to hurt with only the slightest exertion.

He flung his arms above his head, stretching his arms and spine to the ceiling until they popped. 

Still, there was always a silver lining, at least there was if you asked anyone from the Meteorological Teams. And the bell for the end of shift hadn't rung too long ago. If he left now, Crowley was sure he could get down to the bathing pools before the rush. 

He checked he'd left his work station in a suitably angelic state of tidiness and pressed his sigil on the day’s sign out sheet. One last glance round the office at a job well done, then Crowley went out of the cave to join the huge spiral staircase that curled it's way up through the mountain. It was one long thoroughfare that led from the murky storage caverns below, through the offices of the technical teams working on Project Garden, up to the military barracks and the large landing area that served as a parade ground, then higher up still, into the clouds were the Executive Wing had their office, the closest ones to Heaven, as you’d expect.

Some angels used the staircase. It was hard to share discussions on reports when the papers were subject to being stolen by every light breeze. Crowley preferred to fly though. He bounded up the stairs to the next landing zone, one of the flat stone semi circles that protruded from the side of the mountain. He slid through the pillars that flanked the archway and curled his toes round the edge of the rock. He turned his face up to the sun.

He liked the sun. Warm and bright. Just what was needed after a long shift beneath the dim light of his desk. 

Something was happening up on the parade ground. Angels circled the sky around it looking for a place to land, or a better view. Cheers and shouts floated down on the breeze. 

Crowley was momentarily tempted to fly up there and see what the fuss was about. Except if everyone else was up there then the bathing pools were more likely to be empty. 

Crowley tucked in his wings and stepped into the sky.

One of the pleasures of having a corporation was being able to interact with the world they were making. Gravity pulled at his stomach, air rushed past his eyes and through his hair. 

The great expanse of the desert rushed up towards him, the Garden a speck of lush green just beyond his toes. 

Wind whipped the air from his lungs, his sorry to the angel he'd nearly hit on the way down lost as he continued to plummet. It was the thrill of falling, of being momentarily out of control. 

Crowley snapped out his wings. His heart bounced as he lurched upwards and his descent slowed. It took a while to reassert his will over gravity, but his landing at the entrance to the pools wasn't so unsteady as to be embarrassing. He wouldn't have cared if it was, he was laughing too hard. 

He crossed the staircase and peeked around the heavy curtain and into the damp heat of the bath's changing area. Most of the hooks for clothes were free and the shelves of clean towels were full. The floor was nearly dry. He was going to have the place to himself! Crowley nearly stumbled in his effort to get his frustratingly gangly limbs out of his robe. 

Through the next curtain and the whiff of damp sulphur got stronger. The slap of his feet on the moist stone echoed in the cavernous space. There were no windows here, and flames embedded in the sconces carved into the walls sent warm light and dancing shadows over the milky water. 

He'd miss this place when the mountain was no longer needed and the whole thing got tucked away from this reality. 

They didn't have hot pools in Heaven. Didn't need them because none of the angels had corporations. Crowley knew it was just an experimental bag of meat and bone, but he had got quite fond of his body. 

Not that he'd admit that to anyone. It was a base thing, apparently. A means to an end. Gross matter. Still, it was interesting.

A few heads bobbed in the smaller pools. Crowley decided to be bolder. He balanced his way along the slithers of rock between the water to the back of the cave. Right at the back, where water gushed from a gap in the wall itself and filled a deeper pool tucked away from immediate sight. He could use that spring to properly wash his hair and have it beat the tension from his shoulders.

Be private.

The desire for privacy rather smacked of not being a team player, but sometimes space was just a thing Crowley needed. He suspected that this need didn’t make him a good angel, but perversely giving in to it helped him to be better when he returned to the team.

The pool was empty so Crowley claimed it, sliding gratefully into the heat and enjoying the way it seeped through his skin and into aching muscles. He rested his head back on the damp rock and let the grit and grime soak from his corporation. Warmth permeated his skin and muscle and right into his soul. Boundaries between dimensions blurred and his true form snuck into the earthly plane, enjoying stretching its wings, all its wings, and its wiggly spine.

Crowley filled his lungs. Exhaled. Humming as he did so. He closed his eyes. Meditation: good for calming bodies down, lowering something called cortisol. Gabriel, ever organised, had given out leaflets.

Crowley’s had ended up screwed up and bounced off the back of Orael’s head, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t read it first. Crowley floated on his back, belly and nose bobbing above the surface of the murky water and exhaled.

Breathed in.

He exhaled again, running through some musical scales as he did so.

Nice echo in here.

He started to inhale.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry.”

Crowley submerged himself as he tried to sit up and found there was nothing to sit on. His wings thrashed, his legs kicked. His nose burned as his lungs filled with water.

A hand got under his arm and dragged him up. Another hand smacked him right between the shoulder blades several times. Hard. Crowley coughed water on to the stone.

“There. All better?”

Crowley shrugged the unfamiliar arm off. “No thanks to you!”

“I did come upon you rather suddenly. Didn’t realise anyone else knew this pool was here.”

“Obviously!” Crowley rubbed his knuckles in his eyes, clearing the stinging water away. Bloody design flaw, if you asked him. Which no one would.

“I’ll just pop off somewhere else then, shall I?”

The intruder sounded devastated at the thought.

A good angel wouldn’t allow that. Forgiveness. Sharing. Turning the other cheek, even.

“Stay. You’re alright,” Crowley grumbled and then felt guilty. “Stay.” He tried again as he wrung the water out of his hair.

“Oh, thank you!”

The water sloshed over the sides as another body slid into the pool. Now they were more on a level, and his eyes weren’t burning up, Crowley got a better look at the intruder.

Male corporation, more obviously so than Crowley’s. Crowley had quietly adapted his as it seemed a waste to commit to just one way of viewing the world. Not that he had anything against male corporations. The one opposite him, for example, had nice broad shoulders and strong arms. Crowley was starting to realise that his own body appreciated certain attributes in others, and the intruder’s body had those attributes in spades. It was also wearing a ridiculously grateful smile that managed to make its eyes shine, even in the murky light.

“I really am sorry,” the intruder said.

“It’s fine.” Although there was now no longer enough room to float. Not unless the intruder was happy to have Crowley’s legs draped either side of his neck. Probably rude, that.

Crowley spread his arms along the edge of the pool and leaned his head back again instead.

“It’s just that this pool is one of the more secluded, and I am trying to avoid someone.” The intruder glanced around as if said someone was about to loom out of the steam.

Any irritation that the intruder was still talking vanished. Crowley lifted his head. Gossip was frowned upon, but Crowley took the view that if he listened, but didn’t pass it on then it wasn’t really gossip, was it? “Oh?”

“Just, you know – “ A hand waved, fingers just breaking the surface of the water. “Different approaches to interpersonal relations, I guess you could call it.”

Crowley narrowed his still sore eyes. The intruder spoke like a member of the Executive Wing, but then they had all picked up the habit to some extent thanks to Gabriel’s eternal schedule of strategic briefings. The intruder did have the look of a record keeper about him though. And too polite to be military, surely? Fingernails too clean to be a technician.

No robes, no insignia.

Could be anyone.

And Crowley was now free of stardust, the last of it washed away as the spring refilled the pool.

He could be anyone too.

A peek into the celestial plane would reveal all, of course, but that would be impolite without an invitation, wouldn’t it? Could lead to essences sliding together.

Crowley shivered. He’d never tried it. Not even with Orael. Didn’t care how good it was supposed to feel, the idea of anyone being able to see those shadowed, slithery parts of himself made him twitchy.

“So, anyway, I thought what with everyone watching Lucifer and Michael spar, I’d nip down here and make the most of the quiet.”

Crowley blinked. Had the intruder really been talking this whole time? He wasn’t talking now, but watching Crowley carefully. Quick glances at him and away. 

“At it again, are they?” Crowley asked. He had no real interest in watching two of the Host’s most prestigious generals engage in a juvenile contest over who was most proficient with their weapon, but Orael liked watching it. She was not alone and that explained why it was flying room only up at the parade ground. Everyone was there for the show. 

And the Archangel Lucifer would make sure it was a show.

“Good entertainment for the troops,” the intruder said. “Raises morale.” He did not sound sure about this however. His eyes slid over the surface of the water.

“Surely morale shouldn’t be an issue?” Crowley couldn’t help himself. Surely they were all happy little workers striving for harmony in Her name? He couldn’t remember quite when his cynicism on that topic had crept in. Before being posted down here, certainly. It was hard to strive for harmony when perpetually felt like you hadn’t been given the same music as everyone else.

The intruder blushed. The embarrassment went all the way down to his true form. The air around him fluttered nervously, possibly caused by wheels spinning just a tad faster. 

Crowley failed not to find it adorable.

No one in the Executive or Military Wings could be that adorable.

“Well, it can be hard work maintaining the standards expected of God’s army. Important to let off steam now and again, don’t you think?” The intruder’s gaze was imploring.

Crowley remembered his starlet and had the decency to look away. “Ever wonder why they train so hard though?” He never could leave well alone.

“To keep us safe.”

A quick and obvious response. Rehearsed, one might say.

“From what?” Crowley mused. Not confrontational, or aggressive, just harmless curiosity.

“Whatever else is out there.”

Again, hardly a beat between question and response, but the intruder wasn’t meeting his gaze. This wasn’t because he was relaxing in the water. His pale eyebrows had pulled together in consternation. Crowley almost felt bad for pestering him, or would have done if the lip worrying going on wasn’t so attractive. That short, fluffy hair going damp at his temples, the quiet strength Crowley could sense just tucked away on another plane of existence.

He wanted to touch it, be wrapped up in it. Couldn’t do it though. Not without exposing his own quiet defects. And they'd just met. 

He knew some angels who wouldn't have cared. A branch of strategic networking as far as some of them were concerned. Crowley couldn't see the appeal of letting the core of himself mingle indiscriminately like that. He pulled himself in tight to his corporation, but dared to say, “Is there anything else out there, do you think?”

The intruder found another source of courage, he lifted his face and pinned Crowley with a steady look. “You really do ask a lot of questions.” It was said without judgement, but the tiniest, most polite hint of a reprimand. The eye contact lingered. 

Crowley liked watching others, but it always left him unprepared when he discovered someone had been watching him right back. He was always worried about what they saw. 

Crowley looked away first. “Yeah, I know. Sorry.” The game was over. Worth playing though. Crowley smiled, no hard feelings.

The intruder smiled back, soft and bright. Then he shifted forward, leaning slightly into Crowley’s space. The scent of him was neither one thing nor the other. Unfixed and shifting. Paper and metal. Sweet and salt. Conflicted, Crowley might have said. Except that was not a thing angels were supposed to be. One purpose. One voice. One harmony.

Gabriel had designed a poster that said so. 

“You should be careful who you ask your questions to.” The intruder’s voice was a conspirator’s whisper. A warning.

Crowley lifted his eyebrows. The game wasn’t over, just changing.

“There you are!” Orael rounded the corner a ridiculous smile plastered on her face and her essence shimmering with glee. Lucifer and his perfect plumage must have won. She halted, her eyes flicking to the intruder and back to Crowley. Her head cocked.

“I need to get going anyway.” The intruder gave Crowley one last look, eyes darting quickly over his face and upper body.

Crowley's corporation suddenly felt too tight. Too itchy. He scratched water from his arm. 

The intruder huffed out a nervous laugh and pulled himself out of the pool. Definitely strong, Crowley noted. One push of the arms, feet on the edge in one go. Could be military then, or heavy construction. Heavier than stars, anyway.

Maintenance? One of those here to keep the mountain ticking over. 

Orael, who Crowley couldn’t help think of as the new intruder, took his place.

“Interrupting was I?”

“Nah.” Didn’t matter. Original Intruder had been interesting, but he’d gone now. Plus, the way he’d been talking at the end was like he  _ knew _ things. Things above the access of a Senior Astral Design Technician. Best not to pursue that. Even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. The idea made his stomach all wobbly. 

“You seemed to be getting on.” Orael paddled round until their shoulders bumped.

“And? I’m very amenable, me.”

She barked out a laugh. Right in his face. Cheek. 

Crowley splashed her.

Then, for the second time, he was dunked under water.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley makes a scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to every one who is reading. Really appreciate it.

The Archangel Gabriel had called another Strategic Team Briefing. Crowley, who was trying to finish work on a binary star system, had tried his best to wriggle out of it.

There would be no wriggling. For anyone. The lecture theatre was packed with bodies all heavy with near tangible boredom. It pressed down on the air in the room causing it to thicken. Turned out that when these corporations started yawning it was hard to make them stop. The Executive Head of Garden Construction (Item five) was still going strong flicking up holographic images of succulents on the pale cave wall at a staggering rate. His voice echoed up around the dome, over and over. Normally Crowley liked plants, but it really was too much. The Garden being built at the base of the mountain was green. There was a wall around it. Enough!

Orael was leaning on his left shoulder. To his right Zohrael near quivered with forced attention. 

Crowley was only awake as in an effort to show precision and diligence he'd agreed to take minutes. 

The rest of the audience slumped in various stages of inertia. Down below, in the seats closest to the podium some of the Executive Wing's dogsbodies were passing notes. Straight spined and glassy eyed, Gabriel hadn’t noticed.

Some of the Military Wing were openly whispering. 

Lucifer sprawled at the front, sculpted arm thrown over his face and fabulous feet in Michael’s lap. 

A few rows behind him, just off to the left, was a fluff of white curls. Crowley's gaze would have passed straight over him on any other occasion. Probably had countless times before today. 

That was before the bathing pool though. Before he tasted the scent of someone who felt almost as confused and out of place as he did. Excitement thrilled down to Crowley’s core.

The angel had his elbows on his spread knees, leaning forward to offer a view of a solid back, and how that hair curled at the nap of his neck. He appeared to be the only person in the room genuinely fascinated by the growing conditions of succulents. 

Crowley craned his neck, trying to get a better glimpse of him. Shame he was military, but there could still be hope if he was a lower rank. Maybe a clerk or something. Hands like that, had to be a clerk. 

Orael fidgeted on Crowley's shoulder. Her tightly curled hair tickled his nose. The build up of sensation at the back of his throat was not unpleasant. Crowley tried to swallow it down. It was too big, too bullish. 

His body bucked forward and an explosion of air sounded like a crack in the silence. The Head of Garden Construction dropped his notes. 

Half of the Military Wing were on their feet with their swords drawn, including his bathing partner. Crowley's eyes raked over his uniform. His stomach dropped. He was a Principality. He’d been  _ flirting _ with a military guardian.

When the angel's eyes met his, Crowley's skin warmed. 

"Sorry," Crowley said to the room, while still staring at the angel. 

"Bless you," mouthed the angel and sat down. He was smiling, not unkindly but certainly amused. Crowley’s skin tingled. He just knew he’d gone pink.

"Well." Gabriel jumped up, clapping his hands. "I think our second, sneeze we're calling it, aren't we? Has nicely brought the presentation to an end. If er, you up there, with the hair like a lava stream. Yes, if you could report to Corporation Design and Management when we're done here, and we'll move on to item six, shall we?"

Crowley groaned. Now he had to subject himself to having his corporation's orifices prodded and poked. As if being subject to Zoharel's pointed glare wasn't enough. 

“Now, you’re probably wondering why we’re all here.” Gabriel had regained the podium and was flashing his smile about. 

“Because you called the meeting!” Lucifer’s rich baritone rolled round the room. Needling Gabriel was worth him sitting up straight for and his own smile melted several hearts and caused a number of dutiful titters.

Gabriel was equal to it. His strong jaw and violet eyes had their own fan club, after all. “I know it’s challenging for some of us, but if we could perhaps think bigger.”

The holographic plants behind him dissolved in to smoke. In their place Gabriel conjured up an image of two corporations. No, not just corporations. Something simultaneously more than that, but also less.

They were the reason they were all down here working away at creating in Her name. Building a home for a pair of hairless apes. That’s what they were doing. A pair of hairless, mortal apes who could barely exist in three dimensions. Four, if Time ever made it past concept planning without crashing the whole programme.

Someone laughed.

It wasn’t a joke.

At least, Crowley reasoned, no one was bored anymore. He sat forward in his seat, curious and perplexed. There was no shuffling of paper, or coughing. Lucifer’s feet were now very much on the floor. His long fingers folded over his lap. 

Gabriel finished. He tidied his notes and smiled at the room, apparently immune to stunned silence. “Are there any questions?”

Several hundred angels gaped at him.

“Then we’re all done here. Don’t forget to put in your choir practise before the audit. Just because we aren't in Heaven doesn't mean-“

The Archangel Lucifer raised his hand. It was an almost insolent flick of his wrist upwards, forefinger extended, barely above the height of his head.

Michael side-eyed him and quickly looked away.

“Yes?” Gabriel said. “Archangel Lucifer?”

Lucifer smiled. “Why?”

Gabriel blinked. “Could you be more specific?”

“Did She tell you why? Why all this for –“ His hand floated down to indicate the holograms still hovering by the back wall, “-that.”

“I did not question Her will.” Gabriel straightened his spine.

Crowley clenched his fists. Oh, this would be good. Half the Host may get it’s kicks from sword fighting, but this was where the real tension was.

“Spoke to you Herself did She?” Lucifer slouched back, arms folded. “Came all the way down here for a private moment?”

Gabriel’s cheeks paled. “Metatron was very clear –“

“Oh,  _ Metatron! _ ” Lucifer rolled his eyes. The angels sat closest to him smiled. A hint of a laugh rippled through them. There were about half a dozen, mostly military, in a semi-circle round the archangel.

Not odd, as such. Crowley and Orael always sat together, they normally sat near Zoharel. It’s what angels from the same wing did. And the Technicians sat higher up at the back. Not because they had to, but because they weren't as comfortable being seen. Their work didn't require them to be seen. 

The angels round Lucifer wanted to be seen. They sat close to him. Leaning towards his grace like a bodyguard. A gang.

“Now, if there are no more  _ relevant _ questions?” Gabriel gave the room a perfunctory glance, cold, violet eyes settling on Lucifer.

Lucifer shrugged, holding up his palms. Clearly he was satisfied that his point had been made.

Crowley rather wished he hadn’t got what the point might be. It rather looked like the Principality felt the same way, judging by the way he was glaring down at Lucifer with a mix of understanding and regret. 

By the time Crowley escaped from Corporation Design and Management he was sore, icky and not in a mood to go back to work. 

Lingering in the corridor wasn't an option though. Each stairwell and landing zone he passed was full of whispering angels leaving trails of doubt and discontentment. Crowley recognised the mixture because it had been nibbling away at his thoughts longer than he cared to admit.

This didn’t mean that She didn’t love them anymore. He could feel that She did. It flowed through him like a liquid brand. It hurt though, that everything they had been working for was for this new creation. Were they supposed to guard it? Serve it?

The thoughts were like unangelic bugs buzzing away at his calm. 

Crowley kept his head down and went back to work. That's what a good angel would do. 

A good angel would not ask questions, not fixate on other angels so far above his station that it was embarrassing. They would happily sing hallelujahs that their current discomfort was for the greater good. 

Crowley walked carefully over to his work station, determined to focus his mind on nothing but his binary star.

The plans were gone. Not mislaid. No. They'd been right under his chunk of meteorite prototype. 

"Zohrael wants you upstairs." Orael hung over his desk, lips pursed. 

Crowley's eyes flicked up to the mezzanine office. Zohrael had Feivel with her. They were sat either side of the desk discussing a plan that Crowley would have recognised anywhere. 

This shift didn't look set to improve. Crowley climbed the stairs to the mezzanine and knocked on the door. Zohrael waved him in. Feivel left, he took the plan with him. 

To be fair to Zohrael she was very kind about it. Hanging a binary star was tricky. It required precision and attention to detail to get the alignments right. Fievel was very thorough. Not easily distracted. Wasn't it better for the team if the job was finished by someone who could do it best? 

Crowley smiled. Couldn't argue with that, could he? All about the team playing, the greater good, wasn’t it?

The dark corners of his soul wriggled and writhed though. Their sharp teeth sunk into the meat of him. 

"You'll still be part of the crew," Zoharel smiled. 

Crowley's own smile started to hurt. He hoped she couldn't see the dissonance between his corporation and himself. Was that lying? 

He trudged out of the office and down to his desk. He cleaned out the rest of the binary star work, savouring each calculation, each diagram. He put them all in a folder and took them over to Feivel. 

Feivel had the courtesy to blush, at least. “I didn’t ask for this.”

Of course not. Would have been too much like pride, wouldn’t it? “Sfine,” lied Crowley and felt a little more of his soul crumble.

Crowley spent the rest of the shift moving stardust round his desk and staring at the ceiling. When the bell rang Orael caught his arm and dragged him straight to the singing booths.

"You'll never make your practise times before the audit unless I force you," she said. 

That was a joke. Neither of them used the booths for singing practise. 

The booths were small rectangular rooms that still managed to have excellent acoustics. They were sound proof, had doors lockable from the inside, and were one of the few truly private places on the mountain. 

Orael signed them both in to the nearest empty one. She hustled Crowley through the door and slammed it. She put her back against the door and stared at him with wide, dark eyes.

“What?” Crowley asked.

"Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” Crowley said, feeling slightly sick.

Orael tilted her head. Then she walked over and put her arms around him. “It’s ok if you aren’t. You designed those stars.” She pulled back, cupping his face. “You built them! Feivel never could have created something that beautiful."

A good angel would have defended Feivel. Ok, he was boring, but he had virtues too, didn’t he? More than Crowley who didn’t have the energy to be good. He conjured the last dregs of his good will. "But apparently he's more likely to hang them without causing a disaster."

Orael pursed her lips at him. “You’re a better angel than me. I’d be so angry.”

Crowley laughed. He was angry. That had to be what that boiling acid in his stomach was all about. The pounding in his forehead whenever he thought about it. 

Crowley made himself grin. “It’s fine,” he lied, “really.” Lying really did get easier the more you did it. “May as well put in the practice while we have the room.”

“Urm,” Orael glanced over her shoulder as though she’d heard something. 

Crowley sensed he wasn’t the only amateur liar in the room. He also sensed Orael’s essence unfurl with something like excitement, but both softer and keener. 

It was kind of embarrassing. 

The booth door smashed open and a blue haired whirlwind blew in. She stopped. Stepped back. Her eyes raked over Crowley, settling on the places Orael’s hands touched him. 

Orael let go of Crowley quickly. “Tikvael! You came!”

“I said I would.” She gave Crowley a look that made him feel in danger of his corporation’s safety. She was military, middle ranking, and although her corporation was on the small side her essence pulsed with sharp energy. Crowley never wanted to see her holding a sword. 

“This is the angel I told you about.” Orael’s hand fluttered back to Crowley so she could link their fingers. Her other extended to Tikvael, accompanied by nervous smiles and hope. 

The angel called Tikvael gave Crowley a piercing look that did nothing to settle his nerves. She took Orael’s hand, threading their fingers tightly and stepping close so their sides were pressed together. “You can trust him?” 

Whatever Tikvael saw in him, Crowley could see she wasn’t impressed.

“Of course I can, silly,” Orael said.

“Well. I trust you. Bring him to the next meeting.” Tikvael finally looked away from Crowley. Her eyes softened as soon as they fixed on Orael. Her corporation relaxed. “I do need to go soon.”

Orael hugged her. It was not how Orael had hugged Crowley. Tight. Lips pressed together and essences blurring at the edges. Crowley looked away. No need to be jealous, he hadn’t wanted that with Orael, but it still ached. If she had somebody else than what was he now?

Anger and jealousy. He was doing well today.

“I’ll give the two of you space,” Crowley said to the floor.

“You don’t have to. I wanted the pair of you to meet.” Orael smiled at him.

“We’ve met,” Tikvael said pointedly. “And I don’t have much time. Barely got away. Aziraphale is running us all ragged for the archangels inspection later and if we aren’t all up to scratch Belael will blame him. She’s always looking for an excuse to go after him.”

“It’s fine.” Crowley shuffled out of the room before anyone could protest. To be fair it didn’t look like either of them were going to. 

Crowley leaned back against the closed door and closed his eyes. Well, that was a thing. He tried not to think of the exact things Orael and her friend might be doing behind him. Anger, jealousy and lust. This was turning out to be post shift sin bingo with an extra helping of guilt to make it all really stick in his throat.

Crowley banged his head gently back against the door. He took a deep breath in. 

“Oh, hello again.”

Crowley doubled over coughing. 

“Terribly sorry. This has become quite a habit, hasn't it?”

Crowley straightened up, sliding his back along the door before he could be battered by those powerful hands again. “Sir,” he said in pointed deference, and possible accusation, to the insignia pinned at the angel’s shoulder.

“Oh, none of that. How was Corporation Design and Management?” That amused little smile played across the angel’s mouth.

Crowley tried not to mirror it, but it was kind of catching. “How you’d expect,” he said dryly.

The angel’s eyes brightened. His smile got just a touch wider. “My sympathies.I don’t suppose you’ve seen a blue haired angel run past here, have you?”

“Ah,” Crowley said. He was blushing again, both in an effort to keep the knowledge of the blue-haired angel from his face, and also because he now had a name for the Principality. 

_ Aziraphale _ . Had to be. 

“Ah,” Crowley said again, his new found skill at subterfuge deserting him.

Something like disappointment dampened Aziraphale’s smile as he looked Crowley over. “Oh, I see, you must be her starmaker.”

“Me?” Crowley straightened. “No!”

“Oh, well. My mistake then.” It was nearly a question. Aziraphale’s smile wasn’t quite back, but he did seem happier. 

Crowley became very conscious of the door at his back. It was useful for holding him up, but it currently meant he was trapped between solid rock, and an equally solid Principality. One who vibrated with light and was looking at Crowley with eyes full of questions. 

“Are they in there?” Was the question Aziraphale chose to ask aloud. 

“Erm.” Crowley shuffled his thoughts back into order. His knees were failing. He’d have to go back to Corporation Design and Management for another prodding. “I’d give it a few moments, if I were you.”

“Alas, Commander Bealel waits for nothing, including the true joining of spirits.”

“Urgh,” said Crowley.

“What? You thought I’d believe they're actually singing in there?” Aziraphale leaned forward. 

Crowley closed his eyes and tried to dig his fingers into rock in order to keep himself upright. The Principality was warm. Like sunlight. Crowley loved sunlight. 

Aziraphale bashed his fist on the door next to Crowley’s head a few times. Then a few times more.

Crowley opened his eyes. All that firmness so close to him. His nose nearly touched the other angel’s collarbone before he drew back again.

“Tikvael. I will count to three then you will present yourself in this corridor in a state fit to be seen. If not I am coming in regardless of what I might witness. I am not as easily shocked as you think.” His voice vibrated all the way down to Crowley’s toes. Aziraphale was near elemental. He could sweep Crowley up and carry him off, and…

Aziraphale smiled again. Crowley tried to remain upright.

“That should do it.” Aziraphale lifted his voice again. “One!”

Crowley flinched.

“Sorry. Don’t like being loud, but when you’re trying to be heard up at the parade ground it’s the only way to be, I’m afraid. Two!”

“Right, yes.”

“Are you normally down at the bathing pools that soon after shift?” Aziraphale asked.

“I, well, when it’s quiet”

“Thr…”

The door behind Crowley jerked open, nearly spilling him on to his back. Aziraphale grabbed his upper arm pulling him forward and out of the way. Reaction?

“Alright, sir. I’m here.”

Crowley was impressed. Tikvael stared down Azirapahle with no hint of apology. 

“Then run along.” Aziraphale folded his arms.

Tikvael ran. 

“Maybe we’ll bump into each other again, then?” Aziraphale said.

“Urm,” said Crowley.

“I should imagine after you stint with Corporation Design and Management you’ll be needing another soak soon.”

“Erh,” said Crowley.

“Cheerio.” 

Crowley put out an arm and pressed his palm back to the wall and watched Aziraphale amble away. Something distinctly warm and sunny about him. Not at all superior or smarmy like some of the other higher ranking angels were. He’d actually spoken to Crowley like an equal. Hadn’t cared one of his soldiers was in there fraternizing with a Technician.

Not as dramatic and showy in the appearance of his corporation either. Strange how their true forms were subtly altering the bodies they’d been given. Making them almost like individuals. 

And Crowley liked the individual that Aziraphale was trying to be.

“You should go after him,” Orael said, slightly flushed and dewy eyed.

“Expert now are you?” snapped Crowley and walked off in the other direction. He couldn’t help it. Lust may have been winning, but jealousy hadn’t quite given up the race yet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting and a raid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight content warning for some inappropriate propositioning at work. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading.

Crowley wanted to go back to the bathing pools. He liked the bathing pools. He was allowed to like them. Wasn’t cleanliness next to Godliness? Weren’t these corporations supposed to be maintained to a suitable standard lest celestial wages be docked when they were returned? 

He nearly made it a number of times. Got to the changing area once before thoughts slithered into his head on a variation of _he wasn’t serious, might not even be there, he’s a Principality, you don’t want him seeing what you really are under your halo, do you?_

The fear of not running into Aziraphale at the baths was equal only to the fear of actually running into him.

Crowley avoided Orael too. She kept asking him about Azirapahle. Or telling him about Tikvael. Or her presence just reminded him of work and the binary star that was no longer his.

Well, never had been. It wasn’t _his._ He’d designed it, created most of it, planned where to position it, still had the grit of it layered up in his pores and dusting his true form, but that didn’t give him right of possession. 

Team player, and all.

He kept his head down, his mouth shut and his questions to himself. All in all, Crowley managed to be a good little angel. Zohrael even started smiling at him when she came in for the start of the shift. He was miserable. 

Eventually Orael decided that she’d had enough. She cornered Crowley on his next abortive attempt to the baths by backing him against the stair wall and punching his arm.

“Stop it!”

“Ouch. What? Ow!” Crowley threw up his arms to protect his face. They slapped hands for a moment until Orael got past Crowley’s defences and hit him again.

“Sulking. Acting like _Fievel_. I want my friend back.” Orael jabbed Crowley’s ribs.

“Then you should go up to the parade ground and see if she’s around.”

Orael’s brown eyes darkened. Her mouth hardened. She smacked Crowley’s head. “Is that what this is about?”

“No!”

She folded her arms.

Crowley sagged back against the wall. “Yes. A bit.”

Orael rolled her eyes and then pulled him into a hug. Still not the same as the way she’d hugged Tikvael, but Crowley was quite relieved about that. He let Orael crush his chest for a moment and then returned the favour. 

“You’re my best friend,” Orael whispered into his neck. “I thought that was all you wanted. I thought you were happy like that?”

“I am. It’s just. You’re not just my best friend. You’re my only friend. I don’t fit anywhere else.”

She looked up at him, considering. "You might. Are you busy right now?”

Crowley thought about the baths. He thought about the dim light and the warmth of the water and a strong, sure essence sharing the space with him, and how completing that would feel. 

He also thought; _he wasn’t serious, might not even be there, he’s a Principality, you don’t want him seeing what you really are under your halo, do you?_

“Not busy at all,” Crowley said. 

“Perfect!” Orael linked her arm through his. “Come on.”

Crowley was aware that the mountain’s roots went all the way beneath the ground. He'd been aware that there were honeycombs of caves where failed experiments for The Garden Project were dumped right along with forgotten paperwork (that might be needed for an audit trail one day) and old display boards covered with the Garden's conception designs. 

What Crowley hadn't realised was how cold the caves would be, and how dreary. Someone had set up some fires in old metal storage containers, but they only served to accentuate the shadows. Crowley shivered as Orael tightened her grip on him, preventing a retreat. 

The space was little more than a corridor with numerous tunnels leading off it. A group of military angels hung out around the fire in the centre of the space laughing and punching each other in the odd way they often chose to spread their love for each other. The majority of angels were technicians, hugging the walls, alone or in small groups, all trying to make friends without actually daring to make eye contact. 

It reminded Crowley of Gabriel's team building events. Any minute now they would be made to sit in a circle and share their name, rank and their greatest strengths and/or weaknesses with the group. 

"This really isn't for me," Crowley whispered. He could get to the baths if he got above ground and flew the last bit. Wouldn't be too busy now, would it? 

Orael squeezed his arm. "Just give it a chance." She let him go. A blue haired head detached itself from the military group and bounded over. 

"Orael! You came!" the light in Tikvael’s smile dimmed as she looked at Crowley. "You too."

"Pleasure." Angels probably shouldn't sneer, but it was an expression Crowley had been working on and he thought he wore it well. Angels shouldn't be pissy with their mate's Co workers either to be fair. 

Tikvael claimed both of Orael's hands. "I want you to meet someone."

"Don't mind me." Crowley chose to be magnanimous and then slunk off to loiter on the sidelines with all the other wallflowers. He poked about in some boxes, kicked at some loose rubble until finally he found something interesting. Not quite everything needed to make a star, but the dust in the boxes still felt vibrant, if some what sluggish. He hiked up his robe so he could plop down on the floor and get to work. It'd brighten the place up at the very least. At worst everyone would have a good laugh when it exploded all over him. 

There wasn't much light to work with, but what there was faded when a shadow fell over him. 

"Orael doesn't do it like that," Tikvael said. 

Crowley didn’t look up. "We all do it differently, it's a creative process."

The military group had broken up now, dispersing around the room to coax the techs into being sociable. Some of the techs looked positively terrified at the prospect. 

"Why are you here?" Tikvael folded her arms. Thin arms but with clearly defined muscles. 

Crowley looked down at his own skinny, pale limbs, up to their wrists in star stuff and gave her a half shrug. "Curious."

Tikvael's eyebrows were pale as the dawn sky. They lifted in disbelief. 

"Yeah," Crowley said. "Curious about what Her plan is. Why these humans are so special." The star had started to hum. A tad discordant but it would hold long enough. He began to spin it faster. "Also wondering why you military lot are working so hard to talk to the techs. Surely not because there are twice as many of us than in any other wing, so say if Lucifer was planning something he'd need our humble support against Gabriel and his lot."

"Gabriel doesn't care about the technicians."

"Does anybody as long as Her work gets done?" Crowley bit the inside of his cheek. Bitterness, resentment. Not very angelic. 

"And you want more than just doing Her work?" Scenting weakness, Tikvael crouched next to him. 

"I didn't say that," Crowley back pedalled desperately. He was poised on the rim of his inner void though. The empty space that screamed it wasn't enough. That he wasn't enough. 

"And now it turns out everything we have been labouring towards isn't even for us, but for the humans.” Tikvael said. “And not even a reason for it.”

“Doesn’t need to be a reason,” Crowley said desperately. “Can’t judge Her like She was one of us, can you? Mind too big. Sees too much. It’s why She’s the boss.”

“I think Lucifer was right to ask. That’s all,” Tikvael persisted. “It’s a lot of work and time away from Heaven. I mean, what if She means us to _serve_ them? What if this whole garden building programme is just the start of it? What if they breed? Could you imagine being exiled down here for eternity?”

Crowley could. He didn’t hate the idea. The light was warmer than in Heaven, the sky broader. He'd been ferried around the Garden on corporate approved tours and even though it was all permanently poised until the glitches in time were fixed, he could see the lushness of the colours smell the vibrancy of things desperate to reach their potential. 

He didn’t fit in Heaven. He liked to imagine he could fit in the Garden.

The star was finished. It tugged on Crowley's fingers as he eased them free and let the spinning, singing light bounce back and forth between his palms. "Maybe She's just done it because it's interesting. Seeing something you’ve created grow. Maybe that’s what She wants.”

“She has us," Tikvael said. 

And that was the root of the discontent. What if they weren't enough, in the same way that Crowley knew deep in the blackness of his broken soul that She wasn't enough for him. 

He didn't blame Her. He didn't deserve Her love, She was right to look for it elsewhere if she could wasn't She? 

The slap of sandals on rock echoed around the cave. A young looking angel, shocking white in the fire light skidded to a halt in the main entrance way. His gaze flicked around until he located whoever was in charge. "They're coming."

He took off, running straight through the cave and out of one of the smaller entrances. All the military angels began moving. Their anxiety whipped through the techs who all began shouting questions.

Crowley clambered up. "What's happening?" 

Tikvael grabbed his wrist. The cave was full of chaos as angels fled into the tunnels or hovered about in confusion. 

"Are we doing something wrong?" Crowley asked. 

"What do you think?" Tikvael increased the pressure on his wrist and shouted at Orael who was trying to chivy some techs into fleeing. 

Stupid. He’d been stupid. Sitting about questioning Her plan. Of course they’d been doing something wrong. He knew it, but still couldn’t understand why that was the case. 

A group of military angels burst into the cave. Everyone stopped. Both sides frozen in disbelief as they stared at each other. 

The female angel that stepped to the front of the invaders would have made Zoharel look fluffy. She filled up the space with her presence which felt rather like being crushed beneath the weight of the mountain itself. "I’m Commander Belael. If you come with us quietly, we can sort all this out." She smiled, but it was all edges. “I know some of you didn’t mean to be here. Didn’t know what you were getting yourselves into.”

Her gaze travelled over Crowley leaving pricks of ice on his skin. He drew closer to Tikvael.

“We need to get out,” Tikvael whispered.

“Orael…”

She was with another group of techs, right in front of the military angels. Tikvael was already trying to fit behind Crowley, edging backwards while keeping him in front of her. It wasn’t Belael the mountain angel with her too tight braids and powerful arms that had scared her. Aziraphale stood just to the side of the military group wearing an uncomfortable frown. His eyes met Crowley's, and before Crowley had entirely suppressed an idiot grin, slid to Tikvael. She ducked lower behind Crowley’s shoulder. 

“We’re all off shift. This is just an informal social gathering.” Orael addressed the mountain angel’s chin, eyes down but voice firm enough and loud enough to carry through the cave. 

“That sounds like a perfectly innocent explanation and you can tell us all about it during an informal little chat upstairs,” Belael said. 

Orael did lift her head then. “Of course, after I’ve spoken to Zoharel, she manages the astral design team, and I answer to her. You don’t have any authority over me.”

Belael tipped back her head and laughed. “You want to see my authority?”

Belael’s hand shot out and grabbed Orael’s throat. Crowley started to dart forward, but Tikvael flung one of those sinewy arms around his waist. Her other hand snatched the still humming star from him and threw it straight at the military angels in the cave’s entrance. 

It was already unstable to start with. The hum of it turned to a whine under the pressure of Tikvael’s throw. By the time it landed the star screamed. It exploded with a rush of air. The dust swept through the cave filling Crowley’s nose and eyes. The shouts of the other angels were muffled. Choking for air and doubled over, Crowley ran. 

He kept running. Needing to breath was inconvenient. As was the burn in his muscles. He’d lost count of the rooms he’d run through, the turns he'd taken. He followed the flash of Tikvael’s hair, spiralling deeper into the guts of the mountain where there was no light, just cool, damp air and a distant drip. Light glowed greenish and eery from whatever plant matter had made a life for itself on the walls. Panting Crowley came to a stop, glaring at Tikvael’s back. She spun round. “Oh, it’s you. There’s no way out.”

Her whisper echoed eerily. Crowley didn’t have a lot of energy left, but what he did he put into flinging himself at her. The momentum carried them both into the wall. “What were you all thinking?”

Tikvael blinked. Then she grabbed his wrist, thumb digging in as she effortlessly twisted him off her and sent him sprawling on the ground with a kick to his backside.

The ground was just as slimy as the walls. Crowley scrambled up. Tikvael loomed over him. “Shut up! Your voice will carry.”

“I want answers.” He didn’t even sound angry, just lost and sulky. “What are they going to do with Orael?”

Tikvael’s mouth twisted as she turned away. “I don’t know.”

Footsteps approached, slightly muffled by the distant yells of instructions. Hard to tell where they were coming from or how close they were. Tikvael scurried backwards, dropping down and pressing herself into the deeper shadows under a projection of rock in the cave wall. “Are you coming? I don’t care, for the record, but if they catch you don’t you dare give away where I am.”

Crowley glanced back at the way they’d come in. The footsteps definitely sounded closer, deliberately loud and methodical. They were accompanied by very soft singing. Not words, or any particular rhythm, just the dum dum dum of random notes absentmindedly strung together.

Crowley fell to his knees, crawled to Tikvael and tucked himself tight into the darkness next to her. Breathing was so inconvenient. Loud and ragged, filling the emptiness. He screwed up his eyes thought of the things he liked best. 

Didn’t help. What he liked best was not being curled up in the moist darkness with rock digging into his back and an unfamiliar thigh flush against his. 

The singing got louder until both it and the footsteps were in the cave with them. The singing stopped. The footsteps continued, slow and steady until a pair of neatly kept feet encased in military sandals were side on to the edge of the shadow where Crowley hid. 

Crowley dared look up.

Aziraphale was half illuminated in the odd greenish glow. 

"Well," he said loud enough for anyone to hear. "This place is obviously empty. Still some searching to do though so in order to avoid discovery anyone who might be lurking around here would have to stay hidden until the next shift bell at least."

His fingers drummed the top of his thigh. "And they had better have a very convincing reason for not responding to the summoning drums when they present themselves to me at inspection later." His voice broke and his fingers ceased drumming and began fussing with his robes. "An incredibly good reason." He took a steadying breath. "Right then."

"Aziraphale?" The new voice crept into the cave. It sounded like a question, but only a fool would believe it. This voice was used to being heard and indulged.

Tikvael began to shiver. Aziraphale's fingers flexed then stilled. He turned slowly and walked away from their hiding place. Crowley twisted his head towards Aziraphale's back. There was the outline of another, taller figure in the doorway. 

"Belael." Aziraphale's voice had lost its power. "All clear in here, not a thing to report. I was just coming to report that to you in fact."

"Well, here I am." She opened her arms and stepped into the cave. 

"Yes, there you are." Aziraphale’s voice rose. His shoulders twitched slightly as though he were about to turn, but he checked the movement, pulling himself into a closer semblance of attention. 

For a corporation that was so solid there was a grace to Belael that was disconcerting. The way she circled Aziraphale put Crowley in mind of some of the larger felines he’d seen demonstrated in the Strategic Briefings.

Belael stopped at Aziraphale’s side. She leaned in slightly as though ready to inhale him and said. "So report."

"As I said, there is nobody here." 

"Except us?” 

"Yes. Of course us."

Belael stepped back, began prowling again. "Then best not waste the opportunity. Aziraphale. We need to talk."

"I'm sure it's nothing that can't wait until my next performance review."

"You're a good soldier. Conscientious, methodical. Somewhat creative at following orders, but invariably the job does get done. Often in fascinatingly creative ways. Michael thinks you’re one to watch." She stopped briefly on Aziraphale’s other side, hand flicking out to catch Aziraphale’s chin and turned his head briefly. “And I do enjoy watching you.”

As soon as he was released Aziraphale looked away. His laugh was nervous, quickly silenced. "We all do our best in service of Her."

"You enjoy belonging, don't you? Knowing which side you're on?" 

"I have the upmost respect for my colleagues, naturally."

Belael came to rest, lounging back against the cavern’s doorway, arms crossed and one foot braced against the rock. "Of course. You’re very genial. So eager to please. Most of the time. But your brain never stops buzzing, does it? I know you know there's a war coming, Aziraphale.”

“Oh, I don’t…”

“Hush. I read the paperwork on Michael’s desk too. I take the view she wouldn’t leave it out if she wasn’t expecting it to be seen. I don’t have a problem with that. I don’t really have a problem with you, Azirapahle, but I’m in the minority. The problem that I do have is that we all want to know the soul fighting next to us as best we can. We need to know they are on our side. How can we know that about you when you won't let any of us close to you?" 

Crowley sucked the thick air in through his teeth. Tikvael’s trembling hand rested on his knee. It squeezed gently but firmly. The silence uncoiled sluggishly. Eventually Aziraphale shifted. His voice wobbled only slightly when he said, "I don't believe She gave us the gift of merging our souls for the purpose of testing each other's loyalty."

Belael laughed. A surprisingly high, forced sound. "You romantic. I'll be gentle, and when I tell the others and it won't be a problem anymore."

"You’re very kind, but I'll take my chances, thank you." 

Crowley gnawed on the inside of his lip. Nausea cramped his stomach. Zoharel was a difficult boss, but at least she’d never demanded that of him. 

"Unless you are hiding something?” Belael mused. “Those rebels got out pretty quick."

"If you suspect someone of disloyalty you should be having this conversation with Michael. I really can't advise you further." Aziraphale’s voice was clipped now. 

"Be careful, Azirapahle, or I suspect the choice will be taken out of your hands." Belael pushed herself off the wall and stalked out of the cave. Her sharp footsteps gradually died away. 

Crowley sighed. Tikvael’s grip on his knee tightened. Azirapahle cleared his throat as his shoulders lost some of their tension. “Well.” His voice was pitched loud enough to carry. “As Commander Belael said, a war is coming. I trust you have some idea now about who we think we'll be fighting and make your future decisions with that in mind." He hurried out of the cave leaving them to the silence and the dark.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get angsty but there's some soft star gazing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the hiatus but we're back in business now and should have the rest of the fic posted by October. 
> 
> Also, some absolutely beautiful art by [CynSyn](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/CynSyn) at the end of the chapter.

Squeezing yourself back into a corporation after stretching out in the vastness of space always felt odd. Bodies could look good, and allowed you to experience lots of interesting sensations, but the initial discomfort sometimes made you wonder if it was worth the effort. Crowley rubbed at his eyes and let Zoharel's debrief buzz past him. 

The binary star was hung. She was full of constructive comments and praise for Fievel. Good for him. The nagging disappointment Crowley had been trying to rise above was still there, but honestly, he had darker things to think about. 

Zoharel gathered her notes and shoved off back to her office. Words still buzzed around Crowley's ears. How much time had passed? He shook his head and looked up. 

Fievel's eyes widened. "I asked if you were OK?" 

"Mfine."

"I really appreciated your support today. I mean you knew those stars like no one else, and we were a team member down…" Fievel's attention flicked away from his wringing hands to Orael's desk. 

Crowley tried not to look too. Trying not to look at Orael's desk took up most of his shifts. He focused on his own gradually growing pile of paperwork and tried to tidy the scraps of calculations on his desk. " I don't know where she is. Ask Zoharel."

Zoharel had also looked at the empty desk, once, with a sad, scared look on her face and not mentioned it. Orael's work had been distributed around the team and that had been that. Crowley had even seen people pinching her stationery. 

"The two of you were close," Fievel said. "And…" he leaned over Crowley's desk. "I've been hearing things."

"Fievel! Are you asking me to gossip?" Crowley tried for mock outrage, but he didn’t have the energy for it.

"No. No! I'm worried about Orael."

"Me too." He sunk back into lethargy. 

Her absence was a wound Crowley couldn't leave alone. Always conscious of it, always probing it. It ran deeper when he was off shift. Nothing to keep him occupied. No one else to hang out with. He couldn't leave it alone. And he worried about Aziraphale too. Zoharel was a thorough pain of a task mistress, but Belael had been awful. Crowley’s corporation itched just thinking about the scene they’d witness in the cave, and the way Tikvael had just glowered and shrugged it off with a, ‘he handles it.’

Tikvael. This was her fault. After the slog of his shift ended, Crowley flew up to the parade ground. The sun had gone down so the torches were lit around the walls and the perimeter of the large landing zone. Being the biggest open area in the mountain meant it was often taken over as a gathering place for angels coming off shift. The place was already heaving and Crowley was jostled back and forth before he spotted a streak of blue hair amidst a group of soldiers. 

Crowley loitered hoping his own bright hair would catch Tikvael's eye, and also hoping for a glimpse of blond curls. He could go straight to the source of the knowledge then. He gnawed his lip at the thought. Who was he kidding? He couldn't approach Aziraphale. Not after what Crowley had done. Not after what he'd seen. 

Eventually, Tikvael noticed him. She glared through the crowd. 

Crowley glared right back. She detached herself from her co-workers and marched up to him, grabbing his arm and steering him back against a pillar. "You shouldn't be here!" 

"Tell me you know something." Crowley hadn’t meant to beg. The words burst out of him though, raw and angry. Unsatisfied, the anger prompted him to pull his arm away. 

"Orael and the others have been handed over to the Executive Wing." Tikvael glanced around looking irritated. Her shoulders were tensed around her ears and she huddled in close to Crowley.

"Why?" 

Some of the other angels were watching. Casual, curious gazes that swept over Crowley’s wild hair and stardust covered robes. He scratched his forearm and let Tikvael back him further into the shadows. 

"I don't know. You think I haven't tried to find out?" She snapped.

"Did you ask Aziraphale?" Even saying the name did strange things to Crowley's stomach. Fear and want, and more fear.

Tikvael’s own anger ebbed. For a moment her face was almost vulnerable. "I'm not his favorite being at the moment, and… He didn't turn up for shift this morning."

"What?" More fear. Who'd have thought there could be so much of it. His corporation couldn’t contain it. Crowley felt ready to shake apart any minute. Is that why angels walking past were staring? Could they smell his fear?

"He's been redeployed. Don't know where." Tikvael looked away, arms wrapped around her waist. 

"Is this because of what Belael said..." Crowley couldn’t say anymore. Aziraphale had known they were hiding in that cave. At lleast, he’d known someone was hiding, and he had stood there and protected them. Risked himself to protect them. “Couldn’t we ask someone to check the records. There’s always records.” Crowley's voice was frantic.

"Shut up! Are you mad?" Tikvael gasped. 

"But.. What could have happened to him?" 

"I don't know." She was all anger again now. A seething, broiling pot of it all directed at Crowley. “Stop coming up here! We need time to regroup."

Crowley’s own anger flared in response. "They think they can do whatever they like!" It was easy, thinking of them and us now. He wasn’t sure who  _ they _ were, but they weren’t like him. 

"You need to stop. And you need to leave. We can't be seen together." Tikvael spun on her heel and stalked away, head down and weaving her way violently through the crowd. 

“Excellent,” Crowley yelled after her. “Thanks for your help.”

He needed to get off the mountain. 

Crowley flew too far and too fast. The stars blurred above him and below the sand went on forever. Exhausted and heart sore, he realised there was nowhere to go except back to the mountain, or back to Heaven. How could his heart so much? It was just meat. As Crowley slowly flew back, his eye caught the silhouette of the Garden on the horizon and he veered towards it. 

No one had ever said he couldn’t visit it on his own. He’d just be performing a quality control check, wouldn’t he? To make sure the stars had been hung right. The Executive _ liked _ quality control checks. 

Crowley folded his wings, feet touching down on the cool grass. It was quiet here in the silence of suspended time. Crowley let his hands run over the rocks and the curved spines of the frozen, nameless animals. His fingers fluttered through the leaves of the trees. It was eerie, but peaceful too. And it was interesting. More scents, more textures. And when the sun was out the colours would be gorgeous. Now though it was like a story, just poised at the point of creation, waiting for God to spark all the life into it. 

Crowley headed towards the partially constructed wall that divided grass from sand. To keep the creations in or out, Crowley had never quite managed to understand. The view from the top of the wall would be good regardless. He could sit there for a bit, legs swinging out into the sky before he gathered the will power to go back to the mountain. 

“And what will I be guarding against? Exactly?”

Crowley ducked behind the nearest tree, back pressed to the bark and heart beating. His heart didn’t need to beat. He told it firmly to stop, and eventually it obliged him. The words had come from just up ahead, towards the thick undergrowth at the base of the wall. 

“Anything that looks like it might make some trouble.” The Archangel Michael sounded bored, despite the faux kindness in her voice. “Really, Azirapahle. Your paperwork indicates that, if nothing else, using your initiative is not one of your weak points.”

Crowley’s heart immediately started beating again. He curled his fingers into the tree bark as relief and joy ricocheted through him. 

“Thank you, I’m sure.” Aziraphale’s words were dry. 

Crowley bit down on a smile. He hadn’t been hurt, or handed over to the Executive Wing. Azirpahale was here, and whole, and blithely giving his superiors attitude. 

“This isn’t a demotion. It’s an opportunity for someone with your creative talents. Just, try not to be too creative. Do the job and when your next performance review rolls around we can sit down with Commander Belael and reassess exactly what this attitude problem she's accusing you of is really all about.” Michael sounded jolly enough. There was an edge there though, something that Crowley would not have wanted to cross. Apparently, Aziraphale shared his thoughts as he simply responded with, “Quite.”

“Excellent!” Michael clapped her hands. "Do you some good to have time to think about where you want to belong, won't it?" 

"Certainly."

Crowley shuffled around the tree trunk out of site as Michael strode past. She jogged to the nearest open bit of ground, opened her wings and jumped into the sky. 

“Jolly good,” Aziraphale muttered. It sounded like things were anything but. 

Crowley entertained a brief fantasy of what would happen if he made himself known. Then he remembered how soul crushingly awful it had felt to have the binary star given to Fievel. He would not have wanted any more angels to notice that than was absolutely necessary. Besides, he was still soaked with stardust and space debris. Robes and hair all messed up from his too passionate flight. He’d give it a moment, then creep away. 

Aziraphale sighed. The noise sounded a fraction closer than it had been before. “I suppose you heard all that?”

Crowley jumped. Azirapahle apparently had a stealth mood. 

Crowley edged his way round the tree and tried not to look like something that could make trouble. “Yeah, sorry.” He also tried not to look too embarrassed. He tried not to look at Aziraphale’s sword. Or the way he held it with a consummate professionalism that led Crowley to believe that if Aziraphale decided to use it, Crowley’s corporation wouldn’t last long at all. 

“Well.” Aziraphale smiled, bright and brittle. “I’m sure there’s important work to be done here too.” He made a show of glancing around. “Somewhere. Why are you here?”

“Me? Oh. Quality Control Inspection. Hung some stars earlier. Just checking that they look right from down here.” Crowley’s words were rushed. And he couldn’t stop fidgeting, moving about. He tried not to circle Azirapahle, not after seeing Belael do it, but he wanted to check for damage. There was the option to get metaphysical, let his angelic awareness reach out and look for hurt, but that might make any existing hurt Aziraphale already had worse. 

Crowley was not used to wanting to protect things. It was doubly laughable that he wanted to protect the angel with the sword who outranked him and could twist him into knots. Beneath all that beautiful strength though was a raw vulnerability, a fragile hope that Crowley had sensed in the bathing pools. It seemed more exposed now, and Crowley wanted nothing more than to hold it in his palms and breathe comfort into it. 

“It’s an important part of the job,” Crowley finished weakly. He put his hands behind his back and rocked on the balls of his feet. The absolute image of trouble free innocence. 

“Quality control?” Aziraphale sheathed his sword and folded his arms. “You don’t have any paperwork to verify that, I suppose?”

“Paperwork. Pffft. Fill it in when I get back to the office.” Crowley grinned.

“How very daring of you.” Aziraphale looked him over. Took his time over it too.

Crowley’s face hurt from smiling. The back of his neck was too warm.

“Which stars?” Aziraphale said finally, just when Crowley thought his blush had grown deep enough to clash with his hair.

“Which stars?” Crowley asked.

“I presume, if you are telling the truth….”

“Oh, I am.”

“You can at least show me which stars.”

“Yes, sure. Of course. Oh? Erm. Just there?” Crowley gestured vaguely upwards. 

Aziraphale tilted his head back. There was still too much tree cover, the mass of the Garden’s wall looming across a portion of the sky. What could be seen of the night though was lit up with sparkling studs of light. Azirapahle turned a fraction, craning his neck and shielding his eyes. “Well that certainly narrows it down.”

“Fine, I’ll give you proof. Come here.” Crowley may not have led the team that hung the binary stars, but he’d still designed them, spun them into existence from scratch. He would take the chance to show them off, even if that did open the door to Pride. He extended his hand before his brain had thought the implications through. 

Aziraphale stepped forward, placing his hand in Crowley’s. If time hadn’t been paused already, Crowley was sure he would have felt it grind to a halt. Aziraphale’s palm was warm against his. If his borrowed flesh was this warm, what would his soul be like?

Crowley trembled as he glanced from their clasped hands up to Aziraphale’s face. 

“Well?” Aziraphale tilted his head, an eyebrow lifting. The corner of his mouth was losing the battle of curving into a smile. 

“Yeah, this way.” Crowley pulled himself back together, then tugged Aziraphale gently into the clearing where Michael had taken off. Out here the sky was a huge midnight blue bowl arching over them. Crowley turned his mortal eyes upwards roaming the blanket of constellations above them, awed by how tiny they looked, how very far away they must truly be. “See there.” He pointed. It wasn’t hard to find exactly where they hung. He’d done the calculations after all, and Fievel hadn’t needed to correct a single one. 

Aziraphale let go of his hand. Crowley had a moment to register the loss, then Aziraphale’s wings were spreading, dropping slightly so they could tuck out of the way behind Crowley, and Aziraphale could stand with his back against Crowley’s chest. “Show me again?” Aziraphale asked quietly. 

“Urm,” Crowley replied as Aziraphale’s feathers brushed against his. There was an awkward bit of shuffling, Crowley dropping an arm round Azirpahale’s waist to guide him in closer until their cheeks nearly touched. Aziraphale looked up to follow the line of Crowley’s outstretched finger. 

Crowley hadn’t been breathing for a while now. He was light headed. Why hadn’t he registered that Aziraphale’s corporation was shorter than his? He’d always seemed so solid, larger than anything. Turned out Crowley could, if he wanted, twist his neck a bit and press his lips to the powdery hair tickling his jaw. Best not though. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. 

“Oh. Beautiful,” Aziraphale breathed. His own head turned slightly and Crowley made sure he was looking back at the sky. 

“I thought you said there was more than one.” Azirapahle’s words vibrated against Crowley’s cheek.

“That’s the trick. It’s how you hang them. So they look like there’s only one.”  _ And I did that. I worked that out. _ Crowley still had that, he supposed. 

“Ahh.”

The physical proximity was doing odd and not unpleasant things to Crowley’s corporation. He felt content, but edgy. Oddly torn between wanting to flee and wanting to pull Aziraphale closer. When Azirapahle let his true self unfurl slightly, the brush of him against Crowley’s awareness was like fireworks. 

Didn’t mean anything. Aziraphale was just using all those hundreds of eyes. Easier to see into space when you aren’t bound by physics. Crowley bit the inside of his cheek against the desire to respond, to chase that lick of fire against his cold edges, to see how deeply he could draw it into himself. Be warmer than a soak in the bathing pools that would. Be warmer than sunlight. Crowley tensed, unwilling to make a fool of himself. 

“Sorry.” Aziraphale stepped away, he drew his essence back into his corporation. “I wanted to see properly. Didn’t think.”

“You’re ok.”  _ Do it again _ , Crowley didn’t say. “Just surprised me.”

Aziraphale retreated further, hands pulling distractedly on his robes. “What are they called? Your stars.”

“Called?” Crowley blinked. “Oh, humans get to name them, I think. Same as the animals.” That hurt. He was glad there was a foot of grass and moonlight between him and Aziraphale now. Crowley didn’t like being jealous of God’s lesser creations, but it was still there. That sort of deep rooted stain could colour an angel’s essence, make it’s music discordant. Crowley stood in the Garden, alone and broken, and wished he could be better. 

Aziraphale, now apparently satisfied with the way his robe hung, risked looking back at him. “Well,” he murmured. “It was nice to see you again.”

“Yeah, sure. You too.” Crowley edged backwards. Made himself stop. He could try and be better. Could try and do something right. “Thank you.”

“Whatever for?” Azirapahle’s eyes narrowed.

“Not reporting me.” The words weighted the air. 

A frown drew Aziraphale’s brows tightly together. He immediately went back to tugging at his robes. “Please don’t thank me for that. I’m..I’m...still not sure it was the right thing to do.” He glanced at the ground. 

“Oh.” That hurt too. Right to the marrow of him. It gave Crowley no more qualms about asking, “And those that were taken? What happened to them?”

Aziraphale clasped his hands. His gaze darting back to the stars. “They were handed over to the Executive Wing. I believe, I don’t know. Not even any paperwork. I wasn't on shift when the handover took place, but I looked for it.” He offered a weak smile. 

How many had been taken as well as Orael? Crowley had heard rumours of at least three. And they’d all vanished without leaving a paper trail. What could the Executive Wing find so terrifying that they wouldn’t want three copies of everything, all counter signed and stamped to record it. 

“You’re not happy about that.” Crowley advanced slowly, wanting to tease out the thread of that information. “About them disappearing.” Crowley was taller than Azirapahle. He hadn’t meant to make a thing of it, but having even that pathetic little advantage was suddenly important. 

“Whether I’m happy or not doesn’t come into it.” Aziraphale held his ground, chin lifted. 

Crowley laughed. It was dragged out of him, jagged and angry. “Of course not. But, I mean. Wouldn’t you like to be happy?”

“How very bold of you to assume I'm not.” Aziraphale shot back. 

“This isn't a demotion then?” Crowley persisted. He was rewarded by the flash of pain in Azirapahle’s eyes. 

“Of course not. I'm still protecting things.”

“Humans,” Crowley hissed.

“You don't like them."

“Don't know ‘em do I? Nothing to me. Awkward, mortal little things. Clearly have some charm though don’t they? Seeing as they are getting all this, and the stars too?”  _ My stars. _ Crowley turned away, hiding the hurt in his eyes. He wanted the closeness with Aziraphale back. Couldn’t quite remember how he’d wrecked that, and therefore how to regain it. 

“God loves you.” Aziraphale said firmly. “Not despite your imperfections but because of them. It’s the same with me. I...I try to be a good angel. I do, but I don’t always succeed, but I do try and, and, I trust that She knows that” 

He sounded so lost. Crowley’s heart ached a little. He could see why Azirapahle would be a pain. Why upper management would want him out of the way. Well meaning, worried angel. Caring too much about all the wrong things. Caring too much about Crowley, who really didn’t deserve it. Maybe Aziraphale  _ had _ done the wrong thing? Maybe Crowley should be with Orael. At least then he’d know what had happened to her, and that couldn’t possibly be worse than this endless not knowing. 

He snorted out his frustration. “Good? Who sets the bar for good? Good is just following the arbitrary rules that management lays down for us.” 

Aziraphale took a step back. “You really shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Shouldn’t think them either, but I do. Can’t help it. Nasty, slithery little thoughts working their way into my head.” Crowley rapped his knuckles against his own temples. “You should report me, if you want to be  _ good _ , before I graduate from thoughts to actions.”

“Really, now.” Aziraphale tutted.

“What? I’m unhappy too, but at least I’m brave enough to admit.” Crowley moved forward, quick and angry. 

Aziraphale’s mouth twisted, but he stayed where he was, staring Crowley down even though there were only inches of night between them. “Brave?” he whispered. “You think sneaking about spreading discontent is brave? You have no idea, no idea, what bravery is.” Each word was a stone thrown calmly and accurately at Crowley’s head. 

Aziraphale’s face was set, the lines of it firm. It was the face of an angel who had lied to a quite frankly terrifying superior to protect others, gone snooping for paperwork on vanished angels, and had been demoted for being a pain in the arse so that he was now lost under the starlight still trying to make the best of it. Still, he held onto the faith that She knew best. 

What had Crowley ever done but be snarky and resentful? When had Crowley last had faith that things were all for the best?

Why had he ever thought he could be better than he was? He was bad. He’d been ridiculous to think anyone would ever see otherwise.

“Fine,” he snapped.

“Fine!” Aziraphale responded, unmoving.

They stood in the clearing beneath the stars glaring at each other. Crowley stayed as long as he could bear it, trying to remember how Aziraphale looked in the moonlight, the way anger, fear and regret etched lines and shadows over his face. He tried to remember how those pale feathers had felt pushing against his. 

Aziraphale moved first, bringing his hands to rub at his eyes. Aziraphale's shoulders sagged. That’s what broke Crowley down to his heart. He didn’t want an apology, he didn’t want to give one. This was who he was. Best accept it and let everything else wash away. 

Crowley turned and stormed away before Aziraphale could look up. He picked up speed until he found room to spread his wings and escaped as quickly as possible. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer finally speaks his mind and Crowley goes along for the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all of you who have been commenting.

Shifts blurred into one after Crowley left Aziraphale in the Garden. He tried to focus on work, slowly, desperately. It kept his mind busy but he struggled to concentrate. When Crowley wasn’t on shift he would fly as hard and as fast as he could. Sometimes, he’d detour over the Garden, fooling himself that he could see the angel who had been set to guard the Eastern part of the wall. He never landed though. 

Crowley worked and he flew, and whenever he was around other angels he listened. Rumours of Lucifer’s discontent spread, but Crowley didn’t care about that, not really. What he cared about was what would happen if Lucifer was heard. If he did challenge God was there a room of imprisoned angels in the Executive’s offices that would be released? He asked enough questions, that other angels who’d lost friends, and those that were just angry, began to notice him. 

He noticed them. They began to talk. They began to ask questions, and they weren't polite about it. 

Crowley had his head in his hands, eyes closed while his brain tried to find the energy to get through the rest of his shift. He’d glanced up a while ago to find Fievel looking at him. In an effort to appear productive, Crowley raised his head again. This time Fievel was looking at the door. A slow wave of silence had spread through the room as the technicians grew aware of a warrior in their midst. Their work slowed, became more careful as Tikvael passed. Nobody wanted to be responsible for getting stardust on that pristine white uniform. 

After his initial glance up, Crowley ducked his head down and tried to get on with his own work like a good little drone. He had to pause and wipe his palms over his thighs though.

Orael’s empty workbench sucked at his attention. Zohrael’s steady, unflinching gaze bore into the crown of his head. Crowley kept working. He combined the gases, watched the colours swirl and blend. Tikvael stopped before him.

_ Go away _ , he willed her.

She put a hand out, gently touched his shoulder.

Crowley carefully sealed the embryo of the star in a bottle and put it down. He cleaned his hands with water and a rag and looked up.

Her black eyes were large, her skin too pale against her vibrant hair.

“You need to come with me,” she whispered.

Crowley glanced up at the mezzanine where Zohrael had her office. She looked down on them, arms folded.

Tikvael edged closer. “He’s done it. Lucifer challenged Her will.”

“What? And he just expects us to rally?” Crowley whispered back. “He wouldn’t speak out for Orael and the other missing ones when we petitioned him, but he will now, to defend his own pride? I’m done with this.”

Tikvael’s grip on his shoulder tightened and she hauled him forwards. “You think you have a choice? You think they wont come for you if he fails?”

Crowley sneered. “I’m nobody. That’s been made very clear.”

“I’m taking a risk warning you, you know? And I’m only doing it for  _ her _ , because she cared about you. Stay if you want. I’m going to join him. At least then we’ll have a chance.” She pushed Crowley back and stormed out of the workshop.

Curious eyes looked at Crowley from the other workbenches. He tried to go back to work, but his nerves were sharp and his palms were still slick with perspiration. Zohrael had left her office. She was on the stairs. Fievel gazed at him wide-eyed with shock. 

Crowley grabbed his belongings and ran.

The staircase pulsed with angels, chattering and whispering as they hurried up to the parade ground. Crowley threw himself into the tide, pushing and shoving in a very unangelic manner as he worked his way forward. He made it to Tikvael’s side just before the staircase opened out into the flat expanse of the parade ground. 

The noise was deafening. The angels were flocking towards the landing ledge, all craning to look at something. Some had even climbed up the pillars. The crash of metal echoed over the thousands of voices. 

“Here.” Tikvael pressed something into his hand. 

Crowley glanced down at the knife. “I can’t use this.”

“You’ll learn soon enough.” She already had him by the arm, pulling him through the crowd to where a group of soldiers stood, slightly apart from the rest. Despite the crush a distinct space was being left around them. Some of the technicians, and some of the lower ranking executive angels had joined them. Others hovered around the group's edges. 

Tikvael dragged Crowley across that gap, shoved him forward as the group separated to accept them. Someone clapped Crowley on the shoulder. He shrugged it off, moving further forward to get a better view of the crowd’s focus. 

The Archangels Michael and Lucifer were sparing again. Crowley wished he'd made the effort to watch them sooner. It was clear even to him, that while Lucifer was the better showman, Michael was the better fighter. 

She drove him back. Relentless and focused despite the tears tracking down her cheeks. 

Lucifer held out his arms, bloodied mouth wide as he laughed. He jumped backwards into the sky. The crowd cried out, surging forward. Michael followed him, hurling herself forward, sword raised. 

Crowley was flung from his feet. Bodies lifted him up and bore him forward. Angles were taking flight all around the parade ground. Trumpets sounded loud and clear, calling the righteous to arms. 

Crowley was very much not righteous. He struggled to get away from the pull of the soldiers around him. His knees hit the stone and he threw his hands up to protect his head as sandals thumped past him, and over him. He began to crawl, until there was space to stand. Movement was everywhere, fights breaking out in pockets of desperation. The sky above the parade ground was full of wings and metal. The knife was still in his hand. Crowley was about to throw it away when he caught sight of Zoharel. She had Fievel by the arm, and when they noticed him, Zoharel pointed. Crowley didn’t wait to hear what it was she shouted. He stumbled back towards the staircase, one hand dragging against the wall as he went. The knife hilt was sweat-slick in his other hand. Noise echoed after him. He needed to get out. Gasping for air Crowley darted out on to the first landing zone that he saw. Deep breaths. This body needed air. Crowley doubled over sucking in oxygen, eyes screwed up against the brightness.

“Hello again.”

No! he should be in the Garden. Biting hard on the inside of his mouth, Crowley looked up.

Aziraphale was backlit by the sun. Crowley could only see the shadow of his smile, sad and resigned. The sword he was holding, still with a worrying amount of competence, was more obvious, lit up by the sun like it held holy fire.

“Hi.” Crowley stood. He flexed his fingers around the knife handle. 

“Called up everyone up to fight,” Aziraphale chattered on. “Or, I heard the trumpets anyway. I came up to help. Thought I could help. Silly idea really. It's a melee up there. Who knows what's going to happen to the rebels if they’re caught?” He asked it in the manner of someone who had been thinking about this a lot, and not coming up with any reassuring conclusions.

Crowley couldn’t think of any either. It wasn’t if they got caught, it was when. There was no coming back from this. Maybe that was why Crowley was still holding the knife he hadn’t wanted, and had no idea how to use. Made no difference now did it? Any of it.

Aziraphale shifted his weight, making the sun beams over his shoulder flicker. He swung the sword lazily, as though testing its weight. He kept his gaze on it as he said. “You could stay with me, if you like? I could put in a good word for you.”

“That I’d seen the error of my ways, you mean?” Crowley shook his head. Slow and heavy. There was no coming back from this. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. He didn’t belong here. Had never belonged here. Wasn’t sure he’d belong with Lucifer and his lot either, but it had to be better than the constant pressure of Zoharel’s judgement, of swallowing the anger about Orael. Of contorting himself to fit into a space that he no longer knew the shape of.

“Ah,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Well, then that leaves us at a bit of an impasse, doesn’t it?”

Crowley’s throat was too dry to swallow. He could take to the air. He was fast, probably faster than Aziraphale, but what would be the point with the battle raging above him as well? Nowhere to run. “Yeah. Impasse.” He rolled his shoulders. 

Aziraphale nodded. “If you see Tikvael, do tell her...well, never mind. She won't start listening to me now, I suppose.” He stepped to the side, and slightly forward. His sword still now, loose by his side, but in such a way that suggested it could move at a moment's notice.

Crowley stepped back automatically, away from Aziraphale towards the shadowed arch that led back into the mountain. “Tell me,” he croaked. “Please.”

No one would leave any parting messages for him. No one would wonder where he'd gone. Except this angel might have done, if things had turned out differently, if Crowley had been braver. If he'd had more faith. Terrible thing, being an angel without faith.

Aziraphale sighed. “If you do see Tikvael, tell her I forgive her. And I hope that she can forgive me.”

Crowley nodded. As though he was going anywhere. As though he was getting past this sturdy powerhouse of an angel. 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said. 

“Welcome,” Crowley muttered. 

"Right then." Aziraphale charged. 

Crowley had meant to fight. Resist. At least try to delay the inevitable. He’d been expecting an attack, that was the thing, but there had been no warning cry or anything. Just Aziraphale moving and very efficiently driving Crowley right back into the pillar of the archway. The breath leapt from Crowley's body as his shoulders slammed into the stone. Without the sun in his face, Crowley could see Aziraphale more clearly now. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful mouth, when not curled into a snarl obviously. Strong forearms, excellent for crushing a windpipe, for pinning someone against rock. 

Crowley still had the knife. Should probably do something with that. Too busy trying to wriggle free. Too busy trying to breathe.

Metal clattered to the floor. Aziraphale’s sword skittered back out into the sunlight as he kicked it away. “Hold still,” he growled in Crowley’s face.

Crowley couldn’t hold still. He wanted to breathe. Didn’t need to, but every gasped breath was now the most important thing in the world. Aziraphale’s hand fumbled his waist, his elbow. Settled with a punishing grip on his wrist.

“Like this.” A whisper in Crowley’s ear. Hot breath on his neck. “You’re holding it wrong.”

Crowley closed his eyes as Aziraphale’s fingers covered his, pressing them into the knife’s hilt. Crowley was a mannequin. He hung limp against the wall while Aziraphale adjusted him. His fingers were going to break in that determined grip. Aziraphale jerked Crowley’s hand forward. He felt the strain of it in his shoulder. The pressure on Crowley’s neck eased as Aziraphale bucked. He made a noise like all the air had been punched from him. 

Crowley nearly fell without Aziraphale’s weight to support him. There was only the pillar holding him up now. Aziraphale’s body was curled around his, his head pressed to Crowley’s neck. 

“God’s breath.” Aziraphale groaned. Then he stumbled back against the opposite pillar.

Crowley dropped the knife. The blade was dark with blood and gold ichor. It stuck to his fingers too. Crowley stared at them, twisting his hand back and forth in the shadows.

“Never did ask your name.” Aziraphale’s voice came in exhausted bursts. He was partly leaning over, both hands pressed to his thigh. Blood trailed between his fingers and down his leg.

Crowley choked out a shocked laugh. “You mad bastard.”

“No. I’m Aziraphale. Your name. Please. Only polite of you.” Aziraphale spoke as though talking would keep his soul tethered to his corporation.

Crowley smeared blood on his face as he wiped the tears away. He told Azirapahle his name. 

Aziraphale smiled, a moment of brightness through the pain creasing his face. “Don’t look like that. It’s not so bad. Lots of mess, but I think we missed all major arteries.” He slid slowly down the wall, landing with a grunt, wounded leg stretched out in front of him. “They’ll find me pretty quick.”

Crowley started towards him, hand outstretched. 

“You need to run along.” Aziraphale looked up at him. “You’ve a message to deliver.”

Crowley’s feet stuttered. He stepped back, shuffled forward. Awareness of the world beyond them leaked back. Shouts, screams, the clatter of sandals and boots on the staircase.

“Go!”

Crowley went. He ran out to the landing zone, out into nothing. Barely aware of where he would go or where he was heading. Nothing except away, away. Wings blotted out the sky all around him. A chaos of clashing blades and feathers. 

A group was massing away from the mountain. Angels that got through the fighting above were heading towards it. Lucifer’s long golden hair streamed like a pennant. His sword was lit with sunlight. 

Crowley’s wings ached. His lungs still weren’t full and dampness clogged his eyes and throat. There was no going back. He struck out towards the rebel angels hard and fast. 

He banked as a body crashed into him. They scuffled limbs tangling. Crowley kicked out, wings driving him backwards. Then something caught his attacker in the back of her head. She collapsed against Crowley, dragging him down. He struggled away, beating the air as he regained height.

The body fell away, robes and hair whipping out.

He heard his name. One last time.

The shadow above was Tikvael. She held a bow with one hand and the other reached down to him. She called out again. At her back were the other rebels, eyes fixed back towards the mountain, ranks closed tight.

Crowley flew towards her. He held out his hand to hers. 

Light ripped through the clouds. Sound burst open the sky in one loud, never ending note. Gravity and heat snatched at Crowley’s toes, fire licked up his legs and he began to fall. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, do you come here often?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading. I hope you all enjoyed it.

Crawly liked the sun. Warm, glowy thing. What would it be like to feel it on his scales all the time? To spend eternity basking by a waterfall, luxuriating in a job badly done?

And it had been badly done. Maximum results and minimal effort. Demons didn’t feel guilt so the mild churning in Crawly's stomach had to be due to how exceptionally successful his making of trouble had been. Nothing to do with the fact that, despite all his hopes to the contrary, he had quite liked Eve. Barely been a temptation at all. She’d wanted to pick that fruit, had just needed the right sounding board to help talk herself into it. 

And Adam, well, he was so pathetically smitten that Crawly hadn’t stepped in there at all. Just coiled up and watched. He tried to coil up and sleep now. No need to rush his report. No need to go back to Hell at all because the extent of the making of trouble had not been quantified. There could be more trouble to be made, for a creative demon with the courage to try. 

And Crawly couldn’t settle. 

There was something about this place that tugged on the oubliette of his memories. The chasms where something angelic had once dwelled. Was there something familiar about the patterns of the trees overhead? The shape of the shadow cast by the wall? 

It was irritating. The past had been ripped away and he didn’t care. Wouldn’t allow himself to care. It was done and gone. Choices made. 

Crawly slithered down from his rock and went in search of distraction. He went east. Couldn’t have said why. As good a direction as any. The Garden was circular. If he was going to explore it all he’d end up there eventually. Best not think about it too much. Focus on the lovely sun. Cool grass. Big, beautiful sky. Strangely empty though, as though there was something missing from the horizon.

There was a familiar ache in the back of his brain. Crawly shook his head. Didn’t matter. The only sky that mattered was the one above him now. Big, beautiful, endless sky. He hadn’t realised that the weight pressing down on the space behind his ribs was the stress of claustrophobia until he could truly uncurl his spine to it’s full length without the fear of someone stepping on him. Sometimes accidently, mostly on purpose. 

Crawly came to the wall. It rose out of the greenery, smooth and straight. The perfect precision of angelic construction, except for the tiny lines in the stones, the tell-tale flecks of mortar that suggested a hole had been made in it, and hastily filled in. 

Crawly slithered back a bit so he could take in the repair job. So that was how the humans had left the Garden after all the divine fit throwing. Interesting. 

At the top of the wall was an angel. Crawly could taste the light of him on his forked little tongue. He was all sugar, and spice and fluffy cloud hair. Bare footed and worried as he looked out over the sand. All alone. 

All alone. 

He didn’t even have a sword. Not that this anxious little feather brain looked the type to want to use one. Even if there had been a sword, Crawly was prepared to risk a smiting for a closer peek. Not because the discordant buzz of the angel’s energy was anything special. Or the taste of paper and metal was at all familiar. It was just that Crawly probably would have to go back to Hell eventually so he had nothing left to lose through curiosity.

The climb up the wall was easy, and difficult. It felt like it took much longer than Crawly imagined it would. He hadn’t meant to take on a human aspect when he got to the top, hadn’t really meant to talk at all, but he was up there now. Too good an opportunity for making trouble to waste, really. 

And the Angel seemed more concerned with his thoughts than an enemy agent materialising next to him. His eyes flicked to Crawly, then back out to the world beyond the wall. 

Crawly didn't know whether to be relieved or offended by that. 

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon," he tried. Oh, yes. Smooth that.

The angel looked at him properly. He was an adorable ball of anxiety. Still not afraid, but surprised and unsure. He looked a little bit relieved to have the company, actually. Crawly held his breath. Eventually, and somewhat distractedly, the angel replied. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry if anyone really wanted to find out what happened to Orael. I wrote under the assumption that aside from asking difficult questions the angels weren’t sure what to do with any of the rebels they had locked up in custody. They Fell when the rest did.   
> A friend who read the early, early draft of Chapter 1 thought she was Beelzebub. I’m open to suggestions.


End file.
